


The Stuff of Myth and Legends

by cipherninethousand



Series: Wrath of Empires [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, KOTFE reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cipherninethousand/pseuds/cipherninethousand
Summary: The Empire's Wrath, Darth Karesh has been executed by Arcann for crimes against the Eternal Throne, leaving behind a husband and young son.  Sith don't form Force bonds with normal people, it's just the stuff of myth.But Quinn swears that he can hear his wife when he dreams.  Distant.  Exhausted.  The Wrath is not dead, and he will not stop searching until he finds her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Srin'na's exact appearance can be found here: http://i.imgur.com/BKhvCHT.jpg
> 
> Come join me on Tumblr @cipherninethousand!

**Dromund Kaas, 3636 BBY**

 

The newly crowned Emperor of Zakuul marches through the square of Kaas City, flanked by his gold-armored, blue sabered knights. A temporary platform has been constructed in the square; cam droids hover just above it. As Arcann steps onto the platform he takes in the people gathered, Sith and nobles alike -- more of his knights guard the remnants of the ‘Dark Council’, along with the one who has declared herself Empress of the Sith.

 

As though it matters. Her ‘power’ means nothing in the wake of Zakuul.

 

Nearly all the Sith roil with just contained fear and rage, but none dare to meet his eye save two tattooed, horned aliens.

 

“Darth Nox,” A Knight murmurs into his comm.

 

The rest tense behind him, though they maintain their placid expressions. Arcann waves them off, bored, but Darth Nox does not cease her staring. With no immediate threat the Knights return to their task. A prisoner. They drag the alien up in front of Arcann, between him and the gathered nobles (hooded) and shove them to their knees. Waiting for Arcann’s next signal, the Knight Captain rips the hood from the alien’s head to reveal crimson skin, lekku and a snarl.

 

A gasp erupts from the nobles. Shocked, horrified.

 

Rage surges forth, as does Nox. “You dare!”

 

“I am your Emperor and she is my prisoner,” Arcann says flatly. “Step back. _Step back, filth._ ”

 

Her companion (the alien like her) taps her shoulder, until Nox retreats to the crowd, still seething. Arcann touches his lightsaber, once. Twice, and the Knight Captain takes the signal -- tapping the butt of her spear against the platform.

 

The crowd falls silent.

 

_[For her crimes against the Eternal Empire and the murder of our beloved Emperor Valkorion -- Darth Karesh of Dromund Kaas has been brought before you. As the Sith now fall beneath the purview of Zakuul, you are subject to our laws.]_

 

Karesh struggles against her bonds. Trying to break the cuffs, to touch the Force. In the midst of the recorded broadcast Arcann lifts a lazy hand, gesturing. A Knight breaks ranks to touch her saber to the length of Karesh’s lekku. Not hard enough to cut.

 

Just enough to _burn._

 

A lesser being might scream, but Karesh muffles her agony behind her teeth, clenched nearly hard enough to crack. She cannot cradle it, nor shove away the saber which burns. All she can do is try to pull away from the pain until she collapses, catching herself on her hands.

 

Arcann flicks his hand again. Enough is enough.

 

The recording drones on. _[Being subject to the laws of Zakuul, Darth Karesh has only one sentence. For her crimes the sentence is execution.]_

 

The crowd’s silence does not shatter, but no longer is it quietly terrified. Their fear, their rage, so carefully suppressed only a moment before shrieks in Arcann’s mind, unrestrained. Only after the Knights drag Karesh back to her knees does Arcann step forward. To the crowd he still appears bored, loping around his prisoner in an easy gait. The Knights who pulled her up loom behind her. They cross their spears in front of her throat.

 

For all this, Karesh stares ahead now.

 

Calm. Composed. Were it not for the cuffs it could be a celebration.

 

Finally, Arcann stops before her. Above the assembled nobles, he draws his saber from his belt, igniting it. “For our Emperor,” He cries. “For Valkorion!”

 

He raises the saber to angle it for her chest. With a hum he sinks it into her heart, and Karesh stiffens without a single sound. One more hum has the Knights’ spears swept back, sizzling as the blades cut through her flesh. Karesh, still stiff, sags as her head separates from her shoulders.

 

Arcann kicks Karesh down the platform steps -- she lands amidst the horrified gasps of the nobles. At least one screams. Nox roils in black hatred, visibly restrained by her companion now.

 

“Your hero is dead! The Wrath of your Empire has been snuffed out and you are now subjects of the Eternal Throne!”

 

One last time Arcann gestures to Karesh, crumpled at the bottom of the steps. “Let her be the example of what will happen if you have thoughts of rebellion.”

 

-...-

 

Three days pass.

 

Empress Acina declares the Wrath anathema.

 

She does not diminish her prior accomplishments, instead declaring Darths Marr and Karesh dangerous outliers. Another Darth, Kreiz, begs that Karesh be given the state funeral she is due -- the Council begs much the same for Marr.

 

Both served the Empire faithfully.

 

They deserve to have tombs, great statues built of them. But it is not to be beneath Empress Acina and the boot of Zakuul.

 

Darth Kreiz stands before the Council now. A vermillion skinned Pureblood, she stands ramrod straight before the remaining members. Her family stands in honor guard formation behind her. “I beg the Council’s leniency. For any aggressions against Zakuul my granddaughter was a faithful servant of the Emperor.” She begins.

 

Further behind her family, an Imperial officer stands with a twi’lek toddler clutched against his hip. His eyes are red, and bags cut deeply beneath them.

 

“If the Empress will not grant a state funeral, I request that she be buried within my family tomb. She did much for the Empire and it is her right as a member of my blood.”

 

Their ranks diminished, the Council is silent beneath the Empress’ gaze, waiting. Ravage votes first. One, then another and again until only Darth Vowrawn and Darth Nox remain. Both stare at Kreiz from their seats.

 

Vowrawn votes in favor. Nox herself is the only other Council member to vote in favor of Kreiz, so the motion fails. Acina does not even deign to stay, sweeping out in a flutter of black robes and the rest of the Council is not far behind.

 

Again, save for Darth Nox.

 

Pretending to file out behind Vowrawn, the zabrak stops next to Darth Kreiz; she places a hand on her arm. “Don’t mind them. Bury Srin’na in your catacombs, but do it quickly. Do not draw attention to yourselves.” She murmurs.

 

Quick as that Nox removes her hand and strides to the officer, who tries to salute. Not an easy task with a wiggly toddler.

 

“Ha! Ha!” The child babbles.

 

Nox pauses again to touch the child’s face. “I would have saved her if I could have.”

 

“I do not blame you, Dark lord,” says Quinn. “But that woman...I can still feel Srin’na. It wasn’t her.”

 

“Feel her? She is gone, Moff Quinn. Raise your son well; if we’re fortunate he will be like his mother.” Nox says. She pries loose little fingers that are dug into her sleeve, offering Jalkar a smile.

 

Quinn bows in return.


	2. Chapter 2

-Four days after Darth Karesh’s execution -

 

Within the jungles of Dromund Kaas, there are many mausoleums. Some are carved directly from the cliffs, while others are enhanced with offworld stone. There are even those with entrances inlaid with gems and precious metals, blessed by alchemists from Korriban; all are guarded so long as their House stands.

 

Save one.

 

Where normally House guards would stand, in a clearing north of Kaas City, only a handful of Royal guardsmen enforce the mandate of their Empress. In better times it would be a mark of honor. Now it is a mark of shame. Within their ranks the family of Darth Karesh files in procession, Darth Kreiz at their head. A durasteel casket floats next to her. 

 

With no funeral allowed, the guards only observe only one tradition, pausing beneath the great stone arch which opens to House Vesh’s mausoleum, so that Darth Kreiz may enter first. Behind her, Karesh’s grandfather and parents file in one by one. Then Karesh’s son, all of two. Last of all is Admiral Malavai Quinn, Karesh’s own consort, who in a proper procession would be first.

 

Two of the guards remain at the arch. The other three follow the family at a respectful distance, waiting.

 

Chants, eulogies, hymns, all forgone with Acina’s orders, and her guards are only patient enough for the coffin to be lowered gently to the floor, with two markers laid next to it. In columns of aurebesh read two names.

 

Darth Karesh, Srin’na Vesh

 

Darth Marr, friend to House Vesh.

 

-...-

 

Two weeks after the Wrath’s execution, her ship lies empty but for two people.

 

“I think that’s everything. Vette left this morning, and Pierce…” Jaesa stops.

 

Quinn’s standing in the door to the bridge, silent -- he does not acknowledge Jaesa behind him, and were Srin’na here she would not recognize him. Red eyes, uniform far from Imperial standard. His hair is unkempt, boots scuffed and scratched, and Jaesa can see not a sign of the gloves she knows go with it.

 

“Quinn?”

 

He startles, hand reaching for a blaster. When he notices Jaesa behind him he drops his hand. He doesn’t relax, however. “Has there been anything?”

 

“Darth Nox says that the Office of Records entered my master’s status this morning. We watched them kill her. We can’t -- “ The lump in Jaesa’s throat gets the better of her. “We can’t search for someone who’s dead.”

 

Quinn whirls on her then. Frantic, angry. “I still _feel_ her, Jaesa! I know you do too. She’s not dead. I won’t believe it. Srin’na wouldn’t have let an enemy capture her.”

 

“ _I feel whisps of her._ My master is _gone_ and there’s nothing we can do to change it. You aren’t Force sensitive, you don’t understand.”

 

“There’s no ragged hole where she should be. No pain.” Quinn continues. “I don’t know how Arcann did it; to be honest I don’t really want to, but I know that the woman he executed was not Srin’na.”

 

“YOU SAW HER DIE!” Jaesa roars.

 

Immediately Jaesa recoils, face red as Quinn stares at her in disbelief. Every nerve screeches at her to run, to apologize, or maybe just to sink into the floor, never to rise again. “I’m...so sorry. I didn’t. I’ve never…”

 

The disbelief has faded already, replaced by the stiff demeanor that Quinn had employed so often. He held up a hand. “Don’t.”

 

“But--”

 

“No. You don’t have to stay, but I won’t give up on her. I will find her, Jaesa. You can count on it.”

 

Quinn stooped to pick up the last of his things -- a duffle and a box from Srin’s quarters -- and turned on his heel, marching to the rear of the ship. Jaesa could not bring herself to follow, and shortly after, the hiss of the airlock proved it too late.

 

_/Forgive me, Master./_

 

-...-

 

\- Three months after the execution of Darth Karesh -

 

Unfortunately, the fight with Jaesa was not the last. Quinn waits in the garden of Darth Kreiz’s estate, watching his son toddle across the grass. While Jalkar’s skin was a grassy green compared to Srin’na’s crimson, Quinn notices his wife’s personality in everything their son does. Next to him sits his wife’s grandfather, Val’kara -- an aged twi’lek of powder blue -- seemingly as enraptured by Jalkar as Quinn himself.

 

“Your armband is missing,” Valk’ara says. Gently.

 

Malavai’s eyes flick to his uniform’s unadorned sleeve. By rights, in mourning for Srin’na he should have been wearing a black armband embroidered with her name. It’s only proper. “She isn’t dead,” He finally replies. “I won’t mourn her.”

 

Val’kara sighs. Srin’na’s death, her execution has been difficult for all, but Malavai seems...particularly unwilling to accept it.

 

“I suppose that Arcann’s spectacle was an illusion, then? Srin’na must find this all very funny.”

 

Staring at his hands, Quinn is silent for a long moment, before staring at his son, and finally Val’kara himself. “I still feel her. That woman...the one that Arcann had executed, I couldn’t sense her. If Srin’na were gone I wouldn’t feel her presence any more. She is still out there.”

 

“...even if you did have a Force bond with Srin’na, however unlikely that is, they...terminate differently. I felt whispers of my master for weeks after our bond was severed. Months. It does not have to be a ragged hole where she once was, Malavai.” Valk’ara sighs again.

 

“It’s not a whisper, my lord. I hear her speak to me at night, as though she’s far from here.”

 

“I am not telling you to forget my granddaughter. You must accept that she’s gone. You can’t change her death, but you must move on for Jalkar’s sake and your own. She wouldn’t want you to hold false hope.”

 

“Srin’na’s apprentice said the same thing. I won’t give up, and I won’t let Jalkar grow up without his mother.” Quinn says with an air of finality.

 

“I think it might be best if Jalkar stays with us.”

 

-...-

 

4 Years after the execution of Darth Karesh - Office of Imperial Records -

 

Karro looks up from his terminal at the hiss of a door sliding open. In walks his least favorite person. Moff Quinn. As usual, the man could have jumped straight from the military handbook: clean, pressed, polished. He’s not even changed (much) in the years he’s been darkening Karro’s door.

 

It isn’t fair. Karro is probably a decade younger than the Moff, but his hair sailed past silver and into white many years ago, even if hidden beneath dark dye. Quinn himself has retained most of his dark hair. A streak of white here and there, but still mostly dark.

 

The bastard.

 

That does not stop the job that Karro must do. Saving his work and offering the Moff a bright smile, he says, “Good morning, Moff Quinn. How may I help you?”

 

“The usual forms,” Quinn says with a nod, laying down a datapad on the desk. “Everything should be signed and dated. I would also like to file this.” Another datapad joins the first.

 

Karro forces himself not to sigh. Every year on the anniversary of the Empire’s annexation to Zakuul, Quinn arrives with an appeal for Darth Karesh, the traitor. The wording changes somewhat, but the message is the same.

 

_Srin’na Vesh, also known as Darth Karesh, is not a traitor, blah blah. She acted on the authority of a Council member who was hunting our traitorous Emperor, blah._

 

Blah.

 

Karro sweeps this one off to the side. It used to make him shudder, (who dares besmirch Emperor Vitiate?), now he can file this one in his sleep. Instead, he takes a look at the second document. It’s another appeal. Fighting a...psych evaluation. “Sir?”

 

“Just file the papers,” Quinn snaps.

 

With that the Moff turns on his heel and stomps out.

 

Quinn does not slump until he returns to his apartment. There are too many eyes on him. The admiralty board has had him followed three days this week alone, he is certain. He has spoken too much on Srin’na, of rumors, of sightings. He’d always been firm in his declaration that she was not a traitor, and that she had acted completely within the bounds of Imperial law -- such as they applied to Sith, that is. More quietly, he had tried to convince those closest to her that she was not dead.

 

He knew it with all his being.

 

Quinn would continue to fight for Srin’na’s good name until it shined again.

 

Then again, it would be so much easier if she would just come home. Early this year he had begun to have dreams. Vivid, screaming things that shattered the distance between Quinn and his wife, where he can see her alive, fighting. Escaping. Sluggish, perhaps from carbonite? There had been days where he had been ill from their bond as well. But for today there’s nothing to be done about it except sleep.

 

Like so often, his sleep is fitful and interspersed with long stretches of wakefulness. 

 

Finally, he dreams. Off in the distance is a voice, muted as though at the edge of hearing, as it has been for months. Quinn finds his feet moving forward until he runs for this voice, screaming. “My love? My love? Srin’na!”

 

The scream has fizzled into a whisper.

 

Around him, there are more voices but without a sign of Srin’na herself -- only the maddening whispering that slithered across his skin. “Srin’na!” He calls again.

 

Laughter bubbles up. With it comes dark shadows, roiling about Quinn’s boots.

 

_“She does not need you. My Wrath never needed you, worm.”_

 

This time, the rise from sleep is slow and agonizing, until Quinn finally opens his eyes, tears pricking at the corners. _/Where are you, Srin’na?/_


	3. Chapter 3

**Odessen, 3632**

 

Commander Srin’na paced restlessly through the war room, going over the seemingly endless number of reports that had come in that day. The remainder of her war council busies themselves with their own tasks. Save one. Vette leans against the holotable in the center of the room, watching her.

 

“Soooooo. The thing with SCORPIO. We ever gonna talk about that?”

 

Srin’na’s eyes flick to her briefly, but she does not deign to answer. She picks up another datapad instead, tossing it to her. “Could you change the encryption on that? We need to change our routines if we’re going to keep SCORPIO out.”

 

“Not what I asked~” Vette singsongs. “You haven’t talked about SCORPIO since she turned on you. I expected vengeance and Force lightning. You feel okay?”

 

“I will kill her when the time is right.”

 

“There’s my favorite Sith pal!” Vette says.

 

Though Vette has pulled Srin’na into talking to her, she still seems quiet. Less seething, more indifference. Over the next few weeks, she isn’t even asking about Quinn -- a near incessant habit she’d picked up when she’d been reunited with Vette.

 

It continues until Arcann comes for her a few weeks later.

 

At the end of it, when Arcann (and Senya) are gone, but Srin’na still seems off. This time, Vette chalks it up to all the new recruits. Of which there are a LOT. Vette had counted nearly two hundred ships in a multitude of sizes over the last three days. An idea’s been rolling around in her head, and she’s going to put it into action right now.

 

She pushes past Captain Shifty (who’s flirting with an annoyed Hylo) to sling her arms around Srin’na’s shoulders. “Heeeeeeyyyy, Sith buddy!”

 

“Vette.” Srin’na grumbles.

 

“Y’know, there’s all these ships. You ever think that he might be on one?”

 

Srin’na doesn’t answer her. Annoying! So Vette tries again. And again, poking at Srin’s cheek until finally the Commander’s elbow angles for her ribs. “Seriously! Just think about it! Captain Tightpants might be on anyyyy one of those ships. You might be minutes away from a romantic reunion.”

 

Srin’na just shrugs Vette away, and marches off. Vette pouts.

 

When Srin’na is gone, Lana steps forward. “You’re going to drive her crazy one of these days.”

 

“Uh...we just overthrew an Emperor. She’s got another one in her head. I’m probably the least of her worries.”

 

The silence spans a few moments before Lana nods to Vette. “I’m still worried for her. She’s restless, within the Force. Maybe you can give me some insight?” Vette shrugs. Gaining no further answer, Lana pulls her aside to continue. “You know her better than any of us. Her connection to Valkorion is one thing, but there’s something else. It takes focus from her duties here -- we can’t afford that now.”

 

“I'm not, y'know, a Sith, but pretty sure that her other ‘distraction’ is her husband. They have a Force bond.”

 

“That...isn’t possible. Moff Quinn isn’t Force sensitive.”

 

“Well, I’m telling you that he could be dead asleep on the other side of the ship and wake up to tend to Srin if she was in pain.” Vette replies, crossing her arms.

 

“Being a good medic is hardly a mark of a Force bond.”

 

“Don’t tell me you believe that too! That whole...Sith and normal people can’t form Force bonds...thingie.”

 

Lana watches her, still cautious. “Sith are taught from an early age that it’s a myth, that _qyâsik mnerje_ are incapable of such things. That’s not even to speak of what Arcann did in Kaas City. A bond broken so suddenly would have been traumatic at best and deadly at worst.”

 

Vette clearly isn’t buying it, lekku twitching against her crossed arms, gnawing on her lip until she finally spills whatever torments her. “Look, I’m not giving you details on this, even if it’s for Srin’s own good that you know, but let’s not tell her that you know, all right?”

 

Lana leads them both to a quiet spot. She’s reasonably sure it isn’t bugged, though Vette runs a tiny sweeper droid before she speaks. “There was an incident, I guess? Before we went to Corellia, something happened. Something pretty awful. Srin had bonded with him before it happened; when that thing went down, she shut him out.”

 

Vette goes on for a while longer, explaining (without really elaborating) about how Quinn had been completely wrecked when he’d been shut out that time. It was cruel and fast, and though they later patched things up it had been weeks before he’d really started to look like himself. “When that woman got executed instead of Srin, the disconnect never happened. He just said that she felt far away.”

 

When Vette finishes, both stand in an uncomfortable silence until Lana’s comm goes off. She excuses herself while Vette waits patiently to the side. After a few minutes, she returns. “I need a favor, Vette.”

 

“Uh, sure? What am I doing?”

 

“There’s an Imperial ship full of defectors that refused to give a name. Koth’s escorting them to the surface, and I need you to bring their commanding officer to the detention center.” Lana says.

 

“Fine.”

 

Vette all but runs off -- and a good thing too, because Srin’na returns to the war room just then as if she were waiting. Dismay worms beneath Lana’s skin at the twi’lek’s expression; she is no more focused now than she was earlier. They’ve dethroned Arcann! There are hundreds of ships (in varying classes) in Odessen’s orbit, the very thing they’ve worked for since taking this planet!

 

Perhaps she shouldn’t be happy, but she could at least attempt levity instead of wandering about the base as though lost.

 

“Commander?”

 

“I’m going to help Aric and Beywan with the incoming recruits,” Srin’na says. “We’ve got to put them somewhere.” She stops. “I’m not certain there’s enough room for everyone.”

 

It’s the last that Lana speaks to, or sees the Commander for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> qyâsik mnerje: Force blind, spoken in Sith.


	4. Chapter 4

“Moff Quinn, coming up on Odessen now. Looks like we’re not alone.”

 

If Quinn is concerned, it does not show in his face, which is smoothed into a placid expression. “Hold fire. We don’t yet know what we’re in for.”

 

The ensign nods. He’d been perfectly truthful -- there are tens, perhaps even hundreds of ships floating in Odessen’s orbit, some Imperial, some Republic, as well as dozens of ships like the Crimson, which bear no easily identifiable markings. From the viewport, Quinn counts nearly twenty Imperial ships just within range. As they close with the orbiting craft a hail comes from the planet’s surface.

 

[ _Attention, unknown ship. Your ID does not match any known signatures. Your ship’s name, as well as that of its commanding officer is required by order of the Commander._ ]

 

By the accent, the comms officer is from the Republic; this fact draws a line of tension across each and every soldier on the bridge as they look to Quinn for orders. “Ignore them, Ensign Arren. I have doubts that this Commander would mix us so quickly, or so carelessly with Republic soldiers.” Quinn says, standing a bit straighter, a little stiffer.

 

Technically, none of them are Imperials any longer. Empress Acina would have each of them thrown in prison or shot for leaving against orders.

 

“But--” Arren protests.

 

“That was an order, Ensign. We will wait for an Imperial officer.”

 

The hail never comes. Instead, the Republic officer tries thrice more to gain Quinn’s cooperation; she fails. An angry sigh starts the next transmission. [Unidentified vessel, this is your final warning! You will give the name of your ship and its commanding officer or be detained.]

 

“I do not obey orders from Republic officers. We are from the Imperial Navy,” Quinn finally says.

 

He only earns an angry scoff. _[You and about fifty other ships._ ] A sigh. [ _Fine. If you won’t follow Alliance protocol, you will be escorted to the surface by the Gravestone. When you land, your commanding officer will be detained -- and your crew will not leave the ship until the Commander gives clearance. Failure to acknowledge this will result in boarding or being fired upon. Your choice._ ]

 

Quinn barely has time to bite out a curt ‘fine’ before the Crimson’s communications lock down. Now their transmissions are limited. They cannot respond unless hailed first. The Crimson does not float dead in space, not quite, but the tension quickly grows maddening as the lines of ships grow shorter. Two hours pass (forty ships) before the Gravestone breaks from Odessen’s atmosphere.

 

The ship is perhaps two thirds the size of the Crimson, though if rumors hold true it would be unwise to engage. From his command post Quinn clenches a fist.

 

This whole situation is a mess, but no matter. If Srin’na is here, all the time and space and heartache will be over. She has to be here. The bond pulses between them, full of exhaustion, exuberance all in the same breath.

 

A crackle from the comms breaks Quinn from his thoughts. [ _This is Koth Vortena, captain of the Gravestone. Are you going to cooperate?_ ]

 

“This is the Crimson. We will cooperate, Captain Vortena.”

 

From there, the Crimson is escorted -- towed, really -- to an open landing field on the planet’s surface, quarantined from all other ships save the Gravestone herself. They land without incident. With orders to stand down, Quinn goes to the ship’s entrance, wide open to a squad of waiting Alliance soldiers. A man he presumes to be Captain Vortena stands in front of them with a pair of stun cuffs, which Quinn submits willingly to. That is, until a familiar face pops up behind him, her blue lekku draped around her shoulders.

 

“Hiya, Tightpants! Didn’t expect to see you here!” Vette chirps, leaning against Koth. “C’mon, Koth, do we really need those?”

 

“You know this guy?”

 

“Mm-hmm! Better not do this out here though -- leave the cuffs, bring him with us.”

 

“And what am I supposed to do with his crew?” Koth asks.

 

“Lana says they still have to be detained until the Commander deals with them. You --” She points at Quinn, “are supposed to go to the detention center for now. No cuffs, but no weapons either.”

 

The detention center is set in the cliffs below the base proper, though Vette is infuriatingly silent about the whole thing. Not in all the years he’s known her has she been so and it is grating.

 

“This is where you went.”

 

“In the last six months, yeah.”

 

“You fled the Empire to come here.”

 

Vette rolls her eyes. “No, I ran to get away from jerky Sith who might have enslaved me again. All that paperwork Srin filed didn’t mean squat with Sith infighting. Also, you have so much room to talk.”

 

-...-

 

Vette perches on a table in the detention center -- watching Quinn grow gradually more uncomfortable. He shifts uncomfortably beneath her gaze, first standing, then sitting in a chair across from her while Koth stands at the door.

 

“Soooo…” Koth says.

 

Vette snaps at him to go fetch Lana. “Don’t tell anybody else who I found.”

 

When the door shuts behind Koth Vette finally leans forward. “You look like crap, Quinn.”

 

“Thank you for that brilliant observation.”

 

For a second, Vette drums her fingers against her thigh. Watching. Waiting.

 

“This is where you fled,” Quinn says again, flatly as possible.

 

“Y’know, I wondered when you’d show up. Broonmark’s here, Pierce…” Quinn begins to answer, but Vette stops him. “You’re almost the last one. Thought you were back in the Empire, tearing it apart for her.”

 

Quinn stiffens. The ‘last one’ comment burns, dismissing all the issues it took to get to this point. “You don’t--”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I don’t understand. Pierce updated us when we got here, but you’re gonna be happy here in a few minutes when the Commander gets here.”

 

“Who is this Commander?”

 

“Someone you wanna see.” After that, Vette is even more tight lipped about the whole thing -- she just sits on the table, swinging her feet and watching Quinn, one lekku tapping impatiently against her chin. “...and you’re no fun, as usual. _You gotta ask followup questions_! Where’s she from, what her allegiances are. What her name is.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to make things easier for you,” Quinn says.

 

There it is, that sarcasm _Vette missed so much._

 

Vette hops down now. “Fine. Guess I won’t tell Srin you’re here.”

 

At once, the strange feelings through their bond makes sense. Rumors have flown for nearly a year of the Alliance Commander, a wanted criminal beneath the rule of Emperor Arcann. They’d gone mad with speculation when she’d turned out to be a lethan Twi’lek. She’d gathered followers, helped planets in need, always being merciful. The closeness isn’t a lie.

 

It’s enough to nearly drop Quinn to the floor. And that’s really saying something, given that he’s not moved from his seat.

 

Vette keeps her spot until Quinn’s stabilized (wouldn’t want anyone to think they’re friends or anything), only moving when there’s a noise outside. “Stay put, Quinn. I’ve gotta check something.”

 

“Vette,” Quinn calls, stumbling to his feet. “Vette!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part everyone's been waiting for -- Quinn and his Warrior reunite!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Srin attempts to dance to with Theron, Gault and finally Pierce is Sway as sung by Dean Martin. The video below was the inspiration for this entire chapter.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nx0ekVnQEn8

Koth shuts the door behind him, and promptly stops listening to Vette’s conversation.  He hopes, somewhere in the back of his mind that he won’t come back to find her horribly murdered (because with his luck, _he’ll_ get the blame and then be horrifically murdered by the Commander.)  Better lock the detention center.  Just to be safe.  Doubtful, but this ‘Moff’ could be a mass murderer, you never know.

 

Quinn.

 

Quinn.

 

Why in the galaxy does that name sound familiar?

 

Eventually Koth wanders back down to the war room to find Lana.  She’s where he left her, still holed up in the corner with Theron and clutching a cup of caff like a lifeline. “Hey, Lana, got a sec?” Both look at him.

 

Lana smiles, just a little - it’s enough to make Koth ignore his exhaustion in favor of that small warmth. “No more troubles with that ship, I hope?  We’ve had more than our share of disputes today.”

 

“Nah.  They surrendered. The rest of the crew is waiting for the Commander’s go ahead, and Vette’s got their CO in detention.  It’s weird.  She seemed to know him.  Wouldn’t let me put cuffs on him, just had me lock the door on the way out.  Didn’t know that Vette knew any military types.”

 

“Vette traveled with Commander Srin’na for years.  She knew several.”

 

“Must be someone she knows well.  Not many pirates with a Harbinger class ship,” Theron offers.

 

Lana doesn’t reply this time.  She just sips at her caff, eyes closed, like when she is deep in mediation.

 

“Lana?”

 

Her eyes snap open. “Go ahead, Koth.  I’m sorry, the Commander is unsettled today.  It’s more than a little distracting in the Force.”

 

“O-kaay.  Vette said this guy’s some big shot with the Sith.  A...what do you call them, a Moff?  Name of Quinn.”

 

“ _Malavai_ Quinn?” Lana asks.  She and Theron stare holes into him now, as though Koth holds the answer to some long unanswered question. So he answers truthfully. “Yeah, that’s the name. Vette’s waiting on you.”

 

Immediately, Lana sets down her cup and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Of course he would show up now.  Come on, both of you.  I’ll explain on the way, Koth.”

 

-...-

 

“So you’re telling me that this guy, Quinn, is the Commander’s husband and he _just happened_ to show up now, after Arcann’s gone.  After you’ve been scouring the galaxy, he just -- ” Koth makes a ‘poof’ gesture with his hands. “Appears.”

 

“Moffs are usually easier to keep track of, but Moff Quinn’s career has been...unusual to say the least.”

 

Theron snorts, and Koth is ever so grateful that he’s not on the receiving end of Lana’s glare.

 

“Hey!” There’s Vette, slipping out of a detention room.  The door behind her seems to shut with just a little too much force, and she’s glaring at them. “About time you got here.  I’ve been stuck with Moff Stick-up-his-Butt for almost an hour!”

 

An exaggeration, to be sure but it’s overlooked in favor of the newcomers looking to the door -- from behind which there is a muffled voice.

 

“Vette!  Vette, come back here!”

 

“You _locked_ Moff Quinn in the detention center.” Lana says flatly.

 

“Hey, you wanted him detained.  Srin’s husband or not, he can’t go tearing up the whole base.  Quinn might be stuck up but I don’t want to deal with the boss losing it at some poor Pub recruit because they accidentally shot him.  Don’t look at me like that, Theron.”

 

Before Lana can question Vette further, the Moff’s voice comes through the door again. “Vette, I would very much like an explanation.  For example: Why you know where Srin’na is, and why you won’t tell me.”

 

Vette shrugs, Lana sighs, and all file back into the detention room.

 

-...-

 

“Now, Moff -- ”

 

“Quinn is fine, Lord Beniko. I doubt I’ve retained my rank.”

 

“Quinn, then.  I’m afraid that there’s a great deal of work we have to do before I can let you see the Commander. Clearance, and the like.  There’s a celebration this evening and I intend to have all your necessary papers before then.”

 

Quinn’s face falls, but it is replaced with resolve.

 

-...-

 

_-Odessen, base cantina-_

 

“C’moooooon, Sith buddy!  One more!” Vette thumps Srin’na’s back in encouragement.

 

The Commander, already a bit unsteady, gets the side eye from the man working the bar.  Still he slides two more shots to the twi’lek women. “Last one for both of you.”

 

Srin thanks him before linking her arm through Vette’s, then taking her shot in one go.  Once Vette’s done hers, the bartender shoos both women away, so they toddle to the end of the bar to find Theron, deep in shop talk with Hylo and Gault.  It earns the trio a glare from Srin’na, while Vette tries to back her up.

 

“This is a party, Theron.  Don’t you know the whole point is to relax?”

 

“We’ve been over this before, Commander.  I’m here and _reasonably_ cheery.  It’s what you’re getting.”

 

Srin’na tells him ‘no,’ then untangles herself from Vette. “Relaxing is having a drink.  Dancing.  No talking about work.  You’re going to dance with me, Shan.”

 

“I know just the song!”

 

Vette rushes (as fast as a tipsy person can, anyway) to the jukebox, puts in her credits and pokes at the machine until lilting notes from a guitar pour from the speakers.  Theron’s face is now frozen in horror, even as Srin’na leads him to the dance floor.

 

“I promise, this isn’t necessary.”

 

“Quiet, Shan.  It’s one song.”

 

Drunk or not, Srin’na manages to get Theron’s hands where they belong - one in hers, one on her waist - before she kicks his feet apart.  The lyrics start.  Srin’na steps back, Theron steps forward.

 

And promptly onto the Commander’s toes.

 

Srin’na tries again with a glare.

 

She leads.  Theron follows.  He never makes it more than a step or two before landing on Srin’na’s toes.  Whether or not he’s doing it on purpose, Srin’na ends up shoving Theron away before the first verse ends.

 

Gault steps up. “Maybe I can help, Commander?” He offers a hand (while Theron makes a run for it), which Srin’na accepts.  Hylo’s watching him from the bar, though she seems more amused than angry.  This time, Gault leads, but to no avail.  They simply cannot predict each other’s steps.  He’s no Theron, thank the Force.

 

Still, they give up before the song ends.

 

“Sorry Commander.  Maybe when we’re both a little more sober, huh?”

 

He gets a nod.

 

Srin does not rejoin her friends as the song tapers off, instead shuffling to the edge of the dance floor to mix with the crowd.  Watching.  The longing for her husband settles back into her gut.  A deep ache.  The alcohol hasn’t dimmed the sense that he’d been near this morning, even if she cannot sense him now.  She scans the dance floor one more time, as though it will magically make Quinn appear.

 

No Quinn, though she sees Vette, Theron, Gault, and Pierce.

 

Wait, Pierce.

 

“Pierce!  Pierce, come over here.”

 

“M’lord?”

 

Srin’na’s stumbled over to him now, scattering the group of recruits surrounding him. They must be new, as they’re still enamored of Pierce’s black ops tales, and skittish around Srin’na herself.

 

“Pierce,” she repeats, “You can do a tango, can’t you?  Show these recruits how a _proper Imperial_ dances.”

 

“Not sure about the ‘proper’ part, but I can manage a tango for a few credits.”

 

“Fine.  A hundred -- ”

 

Pierce cups his ear, leaning in close. “What’s that my lord?  I can’t quite hear you.”

 

“A hundred.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Ugh!  Fine, five hundred credits!  Now dance with me!”

 

Pierce pardons himself for real, and lets Srin’na lead him to the center of the dance floor.  She managed only to stumble once.  (Vette’s resumed her post by the jukebox so that the appropriate song is played.)  At the sight of the Commander with Major Pierce, a space clears.

 

-...-

 

- _Lana’s office_ -

 

Finally, after nearly nine hours of debriefing and an astonishing amount of paperwork, Lord Beniko declares Quinn finished.  His dignity won’t allow him to drop his head to the table, though it’s a near thing.  Lana hands him two datachips, then reminds him to see a medic before the week ends.

 

Now or never, he supposes. “Lord Beniko, I have a question if you’ll permit me.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Are you purposely keeping me from my wife, or am I merely paranoid?”

 

Lana leans forward, every inch a menacing Sith for a moment. “If I were keeping you from her, I would never have sent Vette,” she says, “Who expressed concerns over you, in fact.  She feared how some of the newer recruits might react to an unknown officer asking about the Commander.  We need no more fights.”

 

Quinn nods. “I understand.”

 

“Come on, then.  I’m sure the party’s gotten started by now, and you don’t want to miss the Commander.”

 

-...-

 

A few minutes later and Lana’s led Quinn through the base, by the time they leave the elevator he can hear the sounds of a raucous celebration bleeding out from the cantina.  A cheer goes up when Lana is spied by a group of revelers, who part to let them inside.  The noise is worse, practically deafening, but he is determined to ignore it.  

 

Because here, he’s the closest he’s been to his wife in _six years_.  His blood sings beneath his skin.

 

This close, the bond is practically tangible, if a little fuzzy.  He can even feel a bit of joy through it, even though it slips through his fingers.  It’s nearly too much.  And Lana notices. “Are you all right?”

 

“It’s nothing.  My excitement got the better of me, that’s all.”

 

“You almost fell over.” Lana’s face turns stark white (which is a feat, considering the paleness of her skin.) “Force.  Vette was telling the truth.”

 

As if summoned, Vette pounces on him from behind and wraps her arms around Quinn’s neck. “Tightpants!  Started to think you weren’t coming.  Your date’s feeling a little stood up.”

 

Quinn pushes Vette’s face from his own (gently, because she is Srin’s best friend even if she’s an annoyance), turning away from the alcohol on her breath.  It explains the ridiculous statement too; as of this morning Srin’na had not even known he was here, and Lana certainly hadn’t left to tell her.

 

Vette is not to be deterred.  Her arms slip from his neck and her bony fists jab him in the ribs, shoving him towards the dance floor.  She mutters the whole time, pushing Quinn through the thickest of the crowd - toward an empty space in the midst of it.  Too distracted, too excited, he can’t stop Vette as she shoves him through the last line of people, barely keeping his balance.

 

Two dancers are attempting a tango.

 

One, Quinn recognizes immediately.  Pierce leads a muscular lethan woman, whose face is turned from him.  Pierce spots him first, but before he can call out to Quinn the woman slips, barely caught.

 

It becomes a dip and the woman throws her head back, laughing.  If Quinn’s blood had been racing before, it pounds now as his wife stares back at him from Pierce’s arms.

 

“Srin’na?”

 

Her eyes focus on him. “Quinn?!”

 

Pierce sets Srin’na gently on her feet.  Srin’na calls to him again, then Quinn’s arms are very suddenly full of his wife, all of her weight against him.  Her breath is foul; she keeps trying to kiss him and misses his mouth. Repeatedly.  Not that he’s complaining, not much, since Srin is showering the rest of his face in kisses.

  
Either way, six years has been a very long time.  Holding Srin’na up with one hand, Quinn cups her chin with the other before he kisses her hard.  The crowd cheers.


	6. Chapter 6

- _ Odessen, Commander’s Quarters _ -

 

Srin feels heavy, a feat considering that she only rests on cold, empty sheets.  Her mouth tastes like the wrong end of a bantha, but perhaps Quinn will come back with caff.  Then they can spend the day rolling around in bed.  Hm,  _ there’s _ an idea.

 

_ Wait _ .

 

Srin’na bolts upright, adrenaline banishing the last whisps of sleep from her mind.  As she thought, her bed is empty, cold sheets in the space next to her; further sweeps of the room do not produce her husband.  She drops her head to her hands.

 

Had Quinn been a hallucination?  A year is a long time to be separated, even longer for him, not to mention how ragingly drunk she’d been last night.  Quinn’s not here.  Not a sound to suggest he’s nearby.  At the corner of her eyes, the sting of tears begins -- Quinn’s return has apparently been nothing but a cruel trick by her brain.  Srin’na sobs and sobs, until the door to her quarters hisses open, bringing with it the smell of strong caff.

 

A voice too. “You’re awake.  I wasn’t sure you’d be -- darling, are you all right?  What’s wrong?”

 

Malavai’s voice snaps Srin’s head back up, and even blurred by tears he’s solid.  Standing in the doorway like a miracle is her husband, holding two cups of caff.  The sobs knot in her throat.  Quick as that, he races from the door (pausing only to set the cups on the nightstand) before settling next to Srin on her bed.  She collides with him almost immediately.  Barely, Quinn catches his wife as she throws her arms around his middle.

 

“Darling,” He murmurs, over the sound of her hiccups, “I’m here.  I’m here.  It’s all right.  Shh.”

 

“I thought that the alcohol played tricks on me.”

 

Quinn cradles her closer, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I thought you might be disoriented, after last night -- I intended to be back before you woke.”   
  


Both are quiet for a long moment.  Srin’na pressed her face to Quinn’s chest, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat.  Bmp-bump.  Bmp-bump.

 

He’s warm, real.  The same familiar cologne, lingering from the day before.  And when she looks up at him it’s to a face the same, yet so different than when she stepped onto Darth Marr’s flagship.  Deeper lines across his forehead, bags beneath his eyes, even when he smiles at her.  He’s stopped dyeing the gray that peppers his temples as well, nor has he bothered to hide the strand of white curling up from his forehead.

 

“I see you’ve given into the glasses.”

 

“Do not remind me,” He says with a grimace.

 

“They make you look distinguished.”

 

He scoffs, but does not argue as they slip back into silence.  Quinn caught her hand.  Fingers tangle with hers, he pulls it up to kiss their intertwined fingers. “I was right.”  When Srin remains silent, he continues. “They...he-- Arcann claimed to have captured you, then this person he caught, he executed in the middle of Kaas City.  But you were here,” Quinn babbles, “not dead.  I don’t understand, but I  _ knew _ you weren’t dead.  I could feel you.”

 

Srin hums softly. “Frozen.”

 

Quinn stares at her again, peering, or rather squinting at her through his glasses.

 

“Arcann froze me in carbonite.  I did kill the Emperor, and beyond that, Lana’s explained a little of the rest to me.  That woman was just his way of cowing the Empire into submission, Force save her.  Killing off the majority of the Council didn’t seem to be enough.  I suppose I should be glad that Lana didn’t believe I was dead, either.  She rescued me.”

 

“I only wish I could have been there to help.”

 

“You’re here now.  That’s what matters, Quinn.”

 

It’s the first time she’s seen Quinn cringe at the sound of his own name, or nearly so, since he’d betrayed her under Baras’ manipulation.  A whisper ghosts against her skin. “Please, my love.  Don’t call me that.”

 

“Malavai.”

 

Quinn, no,  _ Malavai _ topples them both into the bedding. “Srin’na,” he says, “I missed you so much.”

 

They smile at each other - warm and happy and silly, until Quinn’s patience seems at an end.  She sees the narrowing of his eyes just before he leans in to kiss her  Soft to start, gentle instead of sweeping tongue, no teeth on her lower lip as yet, only pressing her into the mattress with his weight. Instantly her hands raise to his shoulders, nails biting through his shirt.  He hums.  Content, pushing no further.

 

Srin’s hands slide into his hair now.  He’s teasing her, the bastard, and when she curls her fists tightly, there is the noise she’d been hoping for -- a gasp against her lips before he moves downward.

 

The purple of her skin will be worth it tomorrow to feel his teeth against her skin.  A bold reminder that she’s no longer without him.

 

“I love you,” Quinn tells her, “Force you have no idea how unbearable the last years have been.”

 

“I do, but I would not be opposed to a...demonstration?”

 

His hands have been stroking gently over skin bared by the loose shirt she slept in, but now grab at the front to undo tiny, fiddly buttons, to pull her shorts down her legs.  The grin on his face is nearly feral, and her patience runs thin.  Winding her legs around Quinn’s hips, she can feel him now, hard and wanting against her.  He’s woefully overdressed for this moment and Srin yanks at his clothes just to touch, to expose skin; he groans when her hand dips below his waistband.  Just as quick, her arms are captured.  

 

Both her wrists grasped in one long fingered hand.

 

Her hands are shoved above her head, then pinned to the sheets. (Always careful of her lekku, always.)  Quinn’s staring at her -- heat and disbelief and unrestrained  _ want _ screams through their bond, all while he’s impatiently tugging off his own clothes.  Someone whines, maybe her or maybe it’s him, when he strokes her with careful fingers.

 

Fingers are not enough.  They stoke fire on her skin, in her blood, but even so it is not  _ enough _ .

 

Six years has never been a wider gap.

 

Srin growls at him.  Hurry.   _ Hurry _ , because if she has to wait much longer for Quinn she’s going to scream.  But he can have no more patience than Srin herself.  His fingers withdraw, though instead of licking them clean, to tease her, they go to grasp one of her legs, settling it over his shoulder. 

 

The first thrust stings a little.  No surprise, given their time apart.  And predictably her husband pauses. “Are you all right?”

 

His answer is Srin’s knees, nudging his ribs until he thrusts again.  Both their minds go a little blank after that, until they are curled together, winded, skin slick with sweat.  Quinn’s made no move to roll away, Srin’s face is resting against his shoulder.

 

Eventually both come back to themselves in short breaths and lazy kisses - Srin draped across Quinn - before either speaks. “I hope you have no plans for the next week, Malavai.”

 

“ _ You _ are the Commander, darling.  You tell me.” 

 

“Hmm, let me think,” Srin says with a nip to his jaw. “No.  I think you’ll stay here until we go to Dromund Kaas.  So much lost time to make up for.” Quinn tenses beneath her, enough that Srin pushes up on her elbows to look in his eyes.  He avoids her gaze, eyes flicking towards a duffel on the floor, the unfamiliar datapad on her desk. “Talk to me.”

 

“I hadn’t thought...I’m not sure I would be welcome on Dromund Kaas, Srin’na.”

 

“Because you abandoned the Empire?”

 

He draws tighter. “I did more than abandon the Empire.  There were  _ questions _ into my state of mind, psychiatric evaluations, and they used my  _ reputation _ to try and discharge me, to take Jalkar away. He is with your parents in Kaas City.  But I’m unsure that your family would let me within a kilometer of the compound.”

 

“I’ll make things right.  I promise.” She says.

 

The tension eases, if only a little.  He tries to free himself (stretching an arm towards his datapad), only to have Srin lean on him a little more heavily.  He tries once, twice more and Srin curls closer. “Srin, I can’t reach. You have to let go if you want me to get my datapad.”

 

Srin only hums at him.

 

Only once Srin grows tired of Quinn’s constant shifting does she lift her head, just enough to float the datapad from desk to her nightstand.  He kisses her forehead.  Tap, tap - the screen flares green for a moment.  The most recent holo is of a young boy, perhaps 8, a twi’lek, holding the camera too high and too close to his face.  A blurry picture, cutting off all but the top half of his head.

 

A sob worms its way into her throat.

 

Jalkar could be Quinn in miniature, if not for his lekku and his brown eyes.  His green skin.  So like her father’s.  

 

Srin traces around a bit of pale skin around her son’s nose.  As Quinn flicks through each holo, she can see each year she’s missed, going back to the last day she saw him on Dromund Kaas.  In the background, she catches glimpses of her family too.  Mother.  Father.  Grandmother. “Force, Grandfather looks so old!  Lana’s kept me apprised of their safety, but it’s not the same?”

 

“I’ve had...difficulty getting to see Jalkar.  At least your mother lets me speak to him on holo.  He asks about you, stories and such.”

 

There’s that sob again. 

  
“We’ll make it right.” She says again.  “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should not have taken quite as long as it did. I haven't written smut (explicit or otherwise) in years and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about this chapter. I purposely did not address Valkorion in this chapter - Srin will do that in the epilogue.
> 
> Please let me know how you liked this one!


	7. Epilogue

\- The Ruse -

 

Sitting in the pilot’s chair, Quinn stares at her, dumbfounded. “I must admit this is a great deal to take in,” he tells her.

 

_ I am Sith, _ Srin’na thinks.  _ I will not cower _ .

 

As it turns out, it’s unnecessary.  Quinn strokes her hand and drops a kiss across her knuckles. “I can’t say that I understand all of this, but...I won’t leave you again.  If there is anything that can be done we’ll find it.  He will be gone.”   _ I promise _ , goes unspoken.

 

Srin’na all but leaps into his lap to kiss him. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

Her confession makes the landing on Dromund Kaas easier.  It does not completely erase the tension - Quinn all but flutters beside her - but it  _ is  _ easier.  She tells herself that her nerves are pure excitement now, and things will be fine.  Though still shrouded, Srin'na steps from her shuttle to breathe deep of the damp air. In the distance, thunder rumbles, soothing. Familiar. She mingles with a crowd of others (aliens, mostly) so as not to draw attention, and splits from them when they pass a taxi stand. She still remembers the coordinates. How could she forget? The spire which housed her family home had been drilled into her since she was old enough to talk. She speaks, then the droid asks for confirmation. “Are you sure that you wish to travel to House Vesh?”

 

“I'm sure.”

 

The tower grows larger in her line of sight until it is only the edifice of blue granite within her vision, flanked by guards. Droids. Flowers. Night blooms still curl around the columns of the door and it is enough to make tears prick at her eyes, like she’d left this morning. But not yet, not here. Srin'na steps from the taxi to walk in, the ground floor bustling as she makes her way inside, none noticing her as she walks across the shining gray marble, Quinn behind her.

 

If she were here as the Commander it would be unsettling. But she is only here as family.

 

Behind the crowds and the public lifts for her grandmother's offices are the private ones, which she had admired as a child for the immaculate mother of pearl buttons set in cherry wood – she presses them now to summon one. The computer prompts her for a password. She enters it, and to her surprise the doors slide open with a soft ring. Her homesickness settles deeper as Srin'na steps in, pushing a button for the apartments at the top.

 

She drowns her anxiety in the familiarity, the smell (her mother's perfume) as the lift climbs higher, higher, until finally it chimes again to announce her arrival. Into the hall, set with the same marble and red-and-gold papered walls to a pair of guards, faces older, yet familiar to Srin as the place itself. Her nerves rear back up when they step into the hallway, no matter that she tries to bite it down. 

 

Her parents, her grandparents, they will be happy to see her (and she will straighten things out with Malavai), but what of her son?

 

He was so small when she left.  Most likely, he won’t remember her.

 

And then Quinn is there, a hand on her arm and holding her close. “It would probably be best if I went first, my lord, it may shock them less.”

 

Srin’na nods.  She must have, because Quinn is leading her through the door, past the guards and past the sitting room where her mother can usually be found, out to the garden.  She doesn’t wobble, despite her racing thoughts.  It’s a near thing.  Her family hasn’t noticed them yet.  Or at least, they haven’t deigned to acknowledge them.  Quinn squeezes her hand.

 

-...-

 

Lord Val’kara will never tire of watching his great grandson play.  At six (almost seven, he insists), his skin has turned bright, grassy green, though with patches of pale ivory across his nose, his arms.  He sees his human father in his face, though more than anything he sees his beloved granddaughter.  He’s often wondered what she would think of the boy.  She’d been so pleased when he was born, only to die as a result of Darth Marr’s pride.

 

Her husband had been no better - refused to accept her death, her burial.  No honor in humans.  Some woman, leading the Eternal Alliance has taken up her mantle, and Quinn had raced off weeks ago.

 

“My lord?”

 

Val’kara sits up a little straighter.  Jalkar sprints off between the canals toward his grandmothers, heedless of his father’s arrival.  Perhaps that’s better.

 

Quinn has the sense to bow, at least, before trying again. “Lord Val’kara.  I would speak with you.”

 

Impertinent boy.  He stands to deal with him - Quinn’s gone completely mad, and they won’t have him raising Jalkar’s hopes about Srin’na’s return.  She’s gone.  A hand raised, Val’kara merely intends to hold him still.  Until his companion steps up behind him.

 

With a touch to the small of Quinn’s back, the person stomps across the grass, heedless of the flowers trampled in their wake, until they stop in front of Val’kara. “Enough.”

 

The garden goes cold.  Perhaps it is only his skin, erupting in chills from a voice he’d never thought to hear again.  Her hood is still up.  It shades her face, though not so much that Val’kara can’t take in her wide nose, her full mouth and oval eyes, shaded in purple as they had so often been.

 

“Srin’na!”

 

“I know,” she says, over and over. “I’m here.”

 

-...-

 

Jalkar, for his part is ecstatic to see his father.  He is wary of his mother at first.  The wariness melts when he sees his family embrace her, and the boy leads her through the garden to show her all manner of interesting things - favorite flowers, the best hiding places and a beetle that crawls across pavestones.   Srin’na goes without complaint.

 

Only Quinn stays behind, with Srin’na’s parents and grandparents.

 

No formal apology is spoken.  Grudgingly, he is offered a nod from each.  It is with the understanding that Quinn was right, in this instance (all that their pride will allow.)  They will not fight any longer, for Srin’na’s sake and Jalkar’s.  More important things must be discussed.  (Will they follow them to the Alliance?  Where will Jalkar be raised?)

 

All things which must be spoken of, at great length.

  
But for now, the family is content to bask in the happiness of their daughter’s return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for reading this. I didn't expect a single person to enjoy it, and that so many did makes me warm and fuzzy. Seriously, thank you. <3


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